


conman and princess

by mayafriar



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Anastasia Fusion, Angst, F/M, Slow Burn, look i love this pairing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-04 17:33:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17308883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayafriar/pseuds/mayafriar
Summary: Clarke and Bellamy are both adept at pretending. He pretends to be someone he hasn't been in a long time, and she pretends to be someone she's not sure she ever was.It's a way to stay alive in a world that wants them dead.





	conman and princess

**Author's Note:**

> heavily inspired both by anastasia the film and musical as dimitri was my childhood crush...i love u john cusack

Clarke lingered in the alleyway for a moment, staring at the doorway in front of her. Her stomach was coiling with nerves, and all she could do was count herself lucky the feeling distracted from how tired she was. She’d barely slept the night before, tossing and turning, dreaming up scenarios to terrorise herself. It was shameful really, that she felt so anxious about this. She supposed she’d put a lot of pressure on the meet going well, on this stranger helping her.

She closed her eyes for a second, taking in a shaky breath, and disappeared into the shadows. Slipping through the doorway of the building, she stepped into the emptiness, coughing dryly as she was enveloped by clouds of dust. She had thought it was odd, that they were meeting here. The structure had once been the council headquarters, abandoned after the uprisings. For all Clarke knew, nobody went near the place, and it was evident why - it was a shithole.

Belongings littered the space, turned over bags scattered across the floor and emptied. Looters had probably taken everything valuable long ago, leaving behind only the smallest traces of the lives of those who had been here. Dropping to a crouch, Clarke picked up a stuffed bear propped up against a rucksack. It’s pink fur was mottled and faded, the ribbon around its neck musty with age. To think of the children, the innocents that had been caught in the war, made her even more sick to her stomach.

A man’s gruff voice startled her. “What are you doing in here?” She stood as he spoke, turning to face him as she rose. She was met by his gun aimed at her head, her eyes quickly shifting to his own. For a moment, she considered how pathetic she must look; clutching a teddy bear, body frozen in fright. She said nothing still but looked at him, watched his eyes narrow, his jaw set. He spoke again, more indignant this time. “What the fuck! Who are you?”

She supposed she seemed either brave or stupid to him, staring at him the way she was. She stammered as she spoke, trying to steel her gaze, thinking of everything she’d been taught. “Are you Bellamy?” She asked, and she thought of Lexa, who had told her to mask what she felt, to shutter emotions away. Lexa had thought feelings were a tool of manipulation.

The man stared at her for a second that dragged on infinitely, then slowly lowered his gun, shoving it down the back of his pants. Clarke had been transparent with him, she supposed, and he’d seen the fear in her eyes, the image of weakness. His shoulders sagged a little as he relaxed, and he looked back up at her with an unreadable expression. “Expecting someone different?”

Clarke suddenly felt embarrassed to be here, in front of this stranger, about to plead for his help. She curled and uncurled her fist by her side, nails digging into her palm. “No - I just - I was told you could help me?”

Bellamy huffed a little, smiling mirthlessly. “Right. And who told you that? Raven? She’s full of shit.” He rubbed the back of his neck, manner shifting to one of almost disinterest. It was as if Clarke was merely a minor annoyance, a bug he was swatting away ambivalently. “Whatever it is you want, I can’t. Sorry for wasting your time.”

Clarke’s gut was twisting. She was struck by the thought of the security around Polis, how Azgeda had tightened it since the last insurgent attack. She needed help, and most of the competent smugglers had already been apprehended in the last few months. Bellamy could well be her last shot. “I’ve saved up quite a bit of money. The girl, she said you could get me to Arkadia, and -”

Bellamy arched an eyebrow, crossing his arms as he tipped his head back to look down at her. “Arkadia? Why the fuck would you want to go there?”

She ran her forefinger over the engravement of the pendant that sat in her coat pocket, the chain twisting in her hand. “My family’s there,” she said quietly, lifting her gaze from her boots. She was emboldened for a moment, staring him in the eyes with an icy expression. “Not that I should have to explain anything to you.”

It was stupid to have done it, she thought straight away. The ghost of a grin crossed Bellamy’s features, and he quirked an eyebrow as his hands came to rest on his hips. “You’re the one asking me for a favour, _princess_.” It felt as if his eyes were appraising her, his gaze moving down her figure for a moment. Her cheeks reddened.

The implication of what he had said sent a flash of anger through her, and though she knew she shouldn’t, she glared at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Bellamy’s expression remained unchanged, unfazed by her growing aggravation; he seemed to feed off of her annoyance, if anything becoming more and more amused by it. He shrugged sluggishly. “Just that if your family is in _Arkadia_ , I’m sure they’ve already sent the calvary to come get you.”

Clarke thought that was a hell of an assumption to make. He didn’t know her, nor anything really about her, yet here he was. “It’s not like that,” she said, trying to stay poised as he remained smug before her.

“Bellamy, Monty said we should -” The lanky man stopped short as he stepped into the room, glancing between Clarke and Bellamy. He dropped the look of surprise quickly, grinning amiably as he clapped a hand on Bellamy’s shoulder. “Well, well, well - what’s going on here?”

For a fleeting moment, Clarke was grateful for the interruption. The tension was distilled, leaving Clarke feeling a little less listless. Of course, Bellamy did her no favours. He gestured to her incredulously, casting his friend a look. “This girl wants to go to Arkadia.”

Clarke rolled her eyes, moving closer to the pair of them as if to punctuate her words. “This girl has a name.” She turned away from Bellamy with a haughty look, focusing her attentions on his more genial friend. “I’m Clarke.”

The other man smiled, inclining his head then glancing at Bellamy for a less than surreptitious moment. “Really?”

Clarke couldn’t help but sigh at the mockery of it all. She pinched the bridge of her nose for a moment, shaking her head before speaking. “Look, I have the money. The only thing I know about my parents is that they might be in Arkadia, and I thought - I don’t know. If you can’t help, I guess you just can’t help.”

Bellamy’s friend bounced on the soles of his feet, one hand on Bellamy’s arm as he turned to face him properly. “She’s _perfect_ ,” he said, eyes widened in excitement. In another life, Clarke might have laughed; they almost looked like a strangely overgrown father and son. Instead, she crossed her arms as they excluded her, eyes narrowed.

Bellamy shook his head disparagingly. “Jasper, no. Look at her, it wouldn’t work.” She contained her annoyance in response, unable to be truly offended seeing as she had little idea what they were speaking of. Nethertheless, it was obvious she and Bellamy were not going to get along.

Jasper, on the other hand, was getting more and more animated. “Blonde, blue eyed, looks about the same age - it would totally work. She could be her!”

Clarke looked between the two warily, feeling increasingly petulant. She crossed her arms. “What the hell are you guys talking about?”

“We’re looking for a girl - the lost Griffin!” The friendlier one turned back to her eagerly, eyes alight with exuberance. Jasper’s childlike countenance was almost endearing, if not a little grating.

She could only scoff in response to him. Clara Griffin was the daughter of two of the most prominent council members from _the_   _before_. She and her mother had escaped during the uprisings, but been separated. Abby Griffin had put up a large reward, but it had been ten years and there was no sign of the girl. She was a thing of myth, frankly. “You believe in that shit?”

Jasper pouted. “That’s mean, Clarke,” he said, pausing for a moment. Apparently shaking her off, he straightened, clapping his hands together in a purposeful manner. “Let’s review the facts, shall we? You don’t know your family, right?”

“Yes, but -”

Jasper continued without a pause. “And you’re what, seventeen? Eighteen?” Clarke scowled. Jasper was clearly not much older than her, if at all, all arms and legs and no muscle tone. He was wearing _goggles_ on his head, yet he was patronising her?

“I’m eighteen, still -”

At this, Bellamy seemed to catch on, his eyes crinkling in amusement. “Clara was eight when she disappeared,” he added, rather unhelpfully.

Jasper scrutinized her still, stepping towards her in a way that was becoming increasingly invasive. “How well do you remember your parents, Clarke?”

She huffed in exasperation. “Are you a tag team now?”

Bellamy must have sensed her discomfort, and he stared at her with an inscrutable expression, eyes softening. “You don’t remember them at all.” It was more a statement then a question, and Clarke quickly averted her eyes. What had been irritating had now become deeply intrusive, and her nerves were again stirred.

Aware of the way she was being watched, she swallowed hard, drowning in her vulnerability. “No,” she said breathily, “I don’t. I don’t remember anything from before I was eight.” The words settled in the air, and she spoke again as if an afterthought. “But that doesn’t mean I’m her.”

Jasper apparently lacked self-awareness, charging onwards despite the unsettled quality the conversation had taken. “But you could be. Think about it Clarke, wouldn’t it make sense?” He was imploring her to consider it, and Clarke could admit that the evidence was rather strange. Still, the idea that she was some lost girl, the fabled Clara, seemed laughable.

She shrugged. “Coincidences.”

Bellamy looked to his friend conspiratorially, putting on an air of vague disappointment. “That’s a shame. We were going to take her to her mom in Arkadia if we found her.” Briefly she wondered if the pair of them thought they were fooling her. Clarke could admit to her faults, but naivety tended not to be one of them - she’d learnt from previous betrayals.

Bellamy and Jasper were con-men. If they thought she didn’t know that, then they were stupider than they looked. Still, she feigned interest, thinking of her lack of options. That was another thing that Lexa had taught her; to use people to your advantage. No matter how incapable the pair of them might have been, they were potentially her last shot out of Polis.

Jasper nodded to Bellamy’s words, frowning overdramatically. She bit back a smile at his poor acting. “We can only fit one more person into our group, and that was going to be her,” he said, watching her with expectant eyes.

Clarke measured her words carefully, portraying herself as wavering to their whims. She’d have to be more convincing than before, when she’d failed to disguise her fear in front of Bellamy. “If I wasn’t her, then it would just be an honest mistake…”

Jasper broke into a broad smile, wrapping an arm around her shoulder jubilantly. She stiffened in surprise, though if he noticed, he didn’t comment. “And if you were, you’d be reunited with your family.”

Clarke gazed into space, pretending to think it over. She was going to play along if it would get her her own way, the swooning girl in need of rescue and direction. She smiled the tiniest bit. “Well. I guess it could be possible. Worth a try, right?”

Bellamy considered her for a moment, and she saw in his eyes the calculation. She thought of him pulling that gun on her when she arrived, scrutinising him herself as she tried to piece together a coherent idea of him. From what she’d seen, he was unpredictable, smug, abrasive; he didn’t like her and she didn’t like him. It was going to be harder to manipulate him.

He bobbed his head with a crooked smile of sorts, one that dripped with derision. “Alright, but we’ve got to go back to the barracks before we leave.” He paused for a moment, looking between Jasper and Clarke for acknowledgement, then turned to go.

“Wait,” Clarke called, “do you mean today?”

Bellamy looked back, dark eyes boring into her. “Will that be a problem?”

It was a challenge, she supposed, and she couldn’t look away from him. “No,” she said, and it came out strangled and raw. His lip twitched, the curvature slipping as if he would smile. Just as soon as she’d thought it, he spun around and stalked for the door in silence.

Jasper grinned as he looked to her, mouth twitching with amusement. “This is gonna be fun.”

With a sideways glance, Clarke pursed her lips. She wasn’t sure if ‘fun’ was the best word to describe what the next while might be like. “I’m glad you think so.”

Jasper eyed the door and then nodded to where Bellamy had gone, smiling lazily after his friend. “Don’t mind him. Bellamy’s a huge softie.”

She snorted. “Yeah, clearly.” Looking at Jasper, she had to wonder how he had ended up where he had. He was terrible at lying, yet he was in the business of deception. She supposed the fact he and Bellamy had avoided Azgeda detection for so long must mean something; she hoped so, at least.

He laughed, practically vibrating nervous energy as he re-adjusted his backpack and started moving across the room. Clarke admittedly found it a little endearing. He seemed so innocent, reminding her a little of Madi; she wondered how much longer he could possibly stay that way.

“You coming, Griffin?” He’d stopped near the door Bellamy had left from, watching her expectantly.

She forced a smile, nodding her head quickly. “Yeah,” she got into step with him, “and don’t call me that.”


End file.
